Chapter 9

The paperwork was finalized, the check cleared, and now Peter was almost out of cash.

By the time he'd covered taxes, fees, and numerous hidden charges, he was left with less than twenty thousand dollars.

While that might sound substantial, it wasn't. Not once he paid for materials and supplies to complete the warehouse and workshops. Based on his calculations, he'd be completely out of money.

With all the repairs required, he realized that the seventy-five-thousand-dollar discount had been a bait. Just making the place clean, let alone livable, would cost more than he'd saved.

He needed a job—it didn't have to be high-paying, but it had to pay. Finding something close by would be ideal, as it would save on travel expenses.

Peter had been planning to explore the area around his new place for a while now.

The district was surprisingly clean, especially for a semi-industrial area. Plenty of truckers came and went, which meant there were truck services nearby.

Not just auto parts, but also other conveniences for truckers. Not that it was all positive—he'd been approached by a few sex workers, but that wasn't what Peter was interested in.

Many places around here relied on temporary labor. Whenever a large load came in, they'd pay cash for an extra set of hands and then forget about it.

He could make a few hundred a week just by hauling boxes or sweeping floors. If he got desperate or faced an emergency, he could look for something temporary. But that wouldn't solve his issue—what he needed was a steady income. Then he noticed an ad for a full-time position in the window of a nearby Seven-Eleven.

It wasn't going to be perfect, but it would meet his needs.

The job offered decent pay and flexible hours, though Peter suspected that a secondhand sales lot in the middle of Brooklyn might not be fully legitimate. Still, he hoped it might be a good way to find used tools and equipment.

Gripping the ad in his hand, he walked toward the entrance, under the large yellow-and-black sign.

"Aleksei's Auto and Mechanical Scrap."

"We buy any used or broken items."

Unlike Peter's lot, this one didn't have a large building and was covered by a big plastic roof. Underneath, he could see various weather-resistant items displayed.

On one side were offices similar to his, with signs overhead to show what was inside. As he walked past, he noticed workers standing in doorways, likely as a theft deterrent.

He was here not only to look for a job but also to scout for useful equipment for his startup.

At the back was a long, narrow building divided into three sections. One said "Main Office" above it, while the other two were open work areas. He saw someone dismantling a car frame with a cutting torch.

He was about to head into the office when he spotted a burly, bearded man lifting a server case onto a workbench. Peter stopped and watched as the man raised a crowbar, about to pry it open.

Raising his eyebrows in alarm, Peter shouted, "Hey, hey, you! Wait, stop, no!" and started running toward him.

Either the man didn't hear him or didn't care, so Peter had no choice but to grab the crowbar out of his hands. "Hey, wait!" But as the man reached for a sledgehammer, Peter raised his hands in defense.

"What the hell're you doin'?" the man muttered, waving the hammer at Peter as he lowered his headphones. "Hey, boss, we got us a thief."

"No, no! You're about to make a huge mistake—I can explain."

Holding the crowbar up, Peter backed away. It was a misunderstanding, and he really didn't want to get into a fight.

A short, muscular, balding man stepped out of the office, wiping his hands on an already dirty rag. "Oh, come on, Bens, it's just a kid. Hey, what are you doing here, huh? Bens, get back to work. And you—beat it." The man was clearly irritated by the disruption.

"Wait, sir, the server case. Your, uh...employee was about to crack it open with a crowbar."

The bald man shrugged. "So?"

"Well, it's an Oscorp Azura server shell. These have anti-theft devices inside. If the case is damaged, they send out a signal and then wipe the drives so they can't be reused," Peter explained. "Even a scrapped one has a small backup power cell in case it, uh, gets stolen."

The man frowned. "Is that right?"

"Uh, yeah. I worked on a broken one before. Plus, the specs of the case leaked online a few years ago; that's why Oscorp stopped using them. The Mark Two is bolted down in Oscorp's server room," Peter began to explain, but the man interrupted.

"Yeah, kid, I don't care. Can you fix it?" He waved the rag at the ad in Peter's hand, and Peter, realizing he was being given a chance to prove himself, nodded.

Peter crumpled the job application in his hand. "Yeah, yeah, I can, but, uh, can you not, you know, hit me with the hammer while I do it?"

"Yeah, Bennie here's only concerned about the case. You must've just, uh, startled him." Bennie nodded and put his headphones back on. "So, Mr., uh…?"

"Parker, Peter Parker." Peter offered his hand, but the man just looked at it, his own hands greasy.

"Aleksei, Aleksei Sytsevich, Owner. So, Parker, get to it. You need anything for this?"

"Uh…" Peter scanned the workbench and spotted the screwdriver he needed. "No, as long as Mr. Bennie doesn't mind me using his tools, I'm good."

"Mr. Bennie?" Aleksei chuckled. "Nah, it's just Bennie, and yeah, go ahead."

Peter picked up the flathead screwdriver and ran his fingers along the bottom of the case. He stopped when he found the screw latch he was looking for. Carefully, he angled the screwdriver's head, slid it into the slot, and pressed. There was a clunk, and a panel on the side of the case slid open.

Looking around for a box cutter, Peter extended the blade and slid it between the panel and the server housing. He gently pulled back until the transmitter popped free from its adhesive. Once it was detached, Peter set the case panel to one side.

"Uh, do you have any…? Oh, never mind." Peter grabbed a pair of snips. Gently separating the wires, he found the alarm wire and snipped it.

"All done," he said, handing the transmitter to Bennie, who slipped it into an antistatic bag. "Uh, the alarm is disabled now, but the transmitter can be reprogrammed if you know how."

Peter wasn't naive. He'd just committed a felony in front of someone. These cases were classified as military hardware, used to control and operate drones. Handling them required several licenses and documentation. Having them here was definitely illegal. If a scrapyard in Brooklyn had something like this, he must be the reincarnation of Jesus.

Aleksei nodded. "Bennie, take care of it while I have a little chat with Pete. My office is a bit more private for these kinds of things."

Aleksei guided Peter into the cramped, cluttered office. It felt more like a storage area for repairable items and paperwork than a meeting room. Most of the furniture looked second-hand, and Peter wrinkled his nose at the ashtray sitting on the desk.

Aleksei lifted an old engine block off a chair and gestured for Peter to sit. As Peter made himself comfortable, Aleksei settled into a large leather chair behind his desk.

"So, you want the job? It's yours. No set hours, no set pay. You get 10% of the sale price of whatever you fix once it's sold, and you keep quiet about what you're working on. If that's acceptable, start when you can, and I'll pay you once things sell."

From his tone, it was obvious there was no room for negotiation. No wonder no one else wanted this job. It could work if he could fix high-value items, but fixing toasters and other junk would earn him pennies. The ad was clearly a ploy to get some free labor from someone desperate. Peter was desperate, but 10% wasn't enough.

"Twenty if I can take part of it in trade. I'm looking for a few things for my own company." He hoped Aleksei would see the value in his skills.

"Oh yeah? What're you making?"

"I don't know yet, but, uh, I own the warehouse on 2nd Avenue."

Aleksei snorted. "The meth-death place, huh? Hope you didn't pay much for that. We did the cleanup, and let me tell you, that place is a mess."

Peter had to agree, especially considering the place's condition—not the man's definition of "clean." "Yeah, but it's fine. I'll only need small things. I noticed you had some portable offices still flat-packed. How about one of those for the server case?" Aleksei chuckled. "You know, Pete, those go for, uh, around five grand new, and I've got five of them. That's a lot of work you're talking about missing out on."

"Um, Mr. Aleksei, boss, sir, no. Those drives are Oscorp military grade. They're worth fifty thousand dollars each. If that tracking I just disabled had gone off, the Feds and a bunch of cops would be all over this place. Plus, there are, what, ten drives in that case? So, half a million— even twenty percent of that is..."

"Is that so?" Aleksei paused, then waved dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I get it. Fine, take 'em. You're breaking me here, breaking me. Need 'em delivered?" Peter looked a bit sheepish and nodded. "Fine, fine. But you better be worth it. Hey, Bennie, grab the flat-pack offices for the kid; there are five in the back."

"Four," Bennie called out.

"Uh, looks like one's in use, so four, okay?" Peter nodded. "Fine, now clear out. Be here tomorrow, and we'll get you started. I got a few small things you can work on to test you out. And, kid, try speaking up a little more—we don't bite here." Aleksei chuckled and opened a drawer in his desk.

"Here," he said, counting out ten bills and tapping them on the desk as he handed them over to Peter. Peter stared at the thousand dollars in his hand. "An advance, 'cause, you know, one's missing. But you better show up tomorrow, or, uh..." Aleksei gave Peter a knowing look.

Peter smiled and nodded, and Aleksei raised an eyebrow. "Uh, sorry, yes, thank you, uh, boss," and Aleksei just shook his head.

Peter was thrilled as they finalized the deal. He'd just secured four offices he could turn into not only his own home but also workshops, plus a thousand bucks.

It was a good start, and once he got the warehouse cleaned up, he could even bring in a few tenants. It was his backup plan in case his business didn't take off, and it would give him income while he built it up.

Looking into housing plans had sparked the idea. He had eight offices with some minor bullet damage and one in perfect shape.

The extra offices would give him space to work while he rented out the others.

Students would be ideal, he thought.

They were less demanding, and he could charge a fair amount for what would essentially be a room with amenities. Less hassle to set up, but he'd still make a decent income each month.

All he had to do was make it work and ensure it was attractive for renters.

Aleksei watched as Peter Parker, his newest employee, wandered through the scrapyard, occasionally stopping to inspect something that seemed to catch his interest.

Aleksei rubbed a hand over his face, thinking about what the kid had said. Reaching into a desk drawer, he pulled out a large survival knife, sighing as he tucked it under some paperwork.

Bennie should have been more cautious, and Aleksei should have paid closer attention to what he'd been asked to dispose of. If the Feds had shown up, it would have ruined everything.

"Hey, Bennie, come over here for a minute, would ya?"

He needed some answers.